


Demons

by Fritti13



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Gen, Introspection, never give up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fritti13/pseuds/Fritti13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Depression is a lifelong battle with a relentless demon.  Never give up.  Don't let it win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons

DEMONS

Written: 1999

"I really hate you, you know."

The demon made no reply but simply gave me a lip less grin from the shadows across the room. I slumped a little lower into the old, overstuffed chair and regarded my adversary wearily.

The silence in the cluttered room was stifling, allowing me to hear the creaks and groans of the old Victorian house as it settled. I sighed. More, I think, to hear myself than from any need to express a sentiment and reached for the sword nestled in the worn scabbard at my side. The demon shifted uncomfortably and it was my turn to offer a humorless grin. Let him sweat a bit.

I lifted the sword from it's resting place and bent to examine the tip. It had scored a deep groove in the dark wood paneling of the study earlier and one was wise to check ones weapons after a battle to see that they remain in good working order.

Examining the blade with a critical eye I made note of the new nick near the point and withdrew a whetstone from my jeans pocket to smooth it out as best I could. It was not the first notch on the trusty metal, nor would it be the last. The blade hadn't the high sheen it once did, either, but it was a good, solid, dependable weapon all the same.

Keeping one eye on the crouching demon I set to work on the blades edge and let my thoughts turn back to the day I finally took up my sword.

I hardly remember a time when I had not been locked into this rambling, windowless house. Just me and the demons. There had been so many of them then and I their unwilling slave. They lived in the multitude of open-doored closets that were scattered liberally throughout the maze of rooms and their greatest joy was to run me ragged. I was constantly at their beck and call, never knowing from one instant to the next which demon would reach out and snag my tee shirt. Despair had been an almost constant companion in those dark days.

At that thought I was momentarily jolted from my reverie by the rattle of a door knob on a nearby closet. After cataloging it I dismissed the sound and went back to my memories.

One harassed and harried day as I rushed from the main hall through an older, dust and much cob-webbed covered room I came upon a door I had never seen before. I thought I was fairly familiar with all the rooms in my "prison", from the fairly well used and somewhat sparsely furnished to the cluttered, chaotic ones to the likes of the room in which I was now, almost forgotten and fallen into the disuse of time. But there, almost hidden beneath a stair leading nowhere, was a rather small and unprepossessing entryway.

At first I was hesitant to turn the door knob and peek into the new room. What if it held more demons? That was certainly the last thing I needed! Then again, what if it was an exit out of the cluttered, musty, dusty old house? I had to know. If there was even the slightest chance of escaping the demons I had to take it.

With renewed determination I turned the knob and stepped forward. The first thing that struck me was the light. Bright, sunny, clear light poured over me for the first time in my life. As my eyes adjusted I began to notice my surroundings. I was not outside as I had first thought, but rather in a tiny, many windowed room. The air was clean and pure, the atmosphere serene and there was not a demon to be found.

It suddenly dawned upon me that I had stumbled into a small, private chapel. The faint scent of beeswax wafted towards me from lit candles upon an alter near the front and the honey tones of the few, small pews glowed in the golden sunlight. What absorbed my sole attention, however, was the high, arched windows and with the primal cry of a trapped animal I snatched a heavy, many-tined candelabra up from it's resting place beside the door and hurled it at the nearest window.

Not a crack, not a scratch even! In a fury I once again snatched up my makeshift battering ram and struck the windows again and again yet they remained as solid and immutable as granite. Finally, exhausted and filled with anguish, I slumped against the alter. Freedom lay so close and yet remained so far. While this beautiful chapel was a sanctuary from the demons of my everyday world beyond the door it was also a different sort of torture to be able to see that which I longed for so ardently and could not reach. The chapel would become a respite from the demons but I knew I could not remain here indefinitely. I pulled myself to my feet again, groaning with the effort and paused to look upon the alter....... and my salvation.

A sword rested there. It was not a fancy sword. Nothing like the stories of magical, bejeweled weapons in the hands of legendary heroes. This was a plain and simple working tool. Finely crafted, to be sure, but meant for battle, not for show.  
It was then that I had my first thoughts of rebellion. Oh, how that fiery worm began to twist in my gut! With a good weapon perhaps I could defend myself against the demons! Why, perhaps I could even vanquish them! They liked to tease me now and again with stories of an exit to the outside world but it could only be revealed in the absence of demonic influence. Since the house was crawling with the damn things I had long given up hope of ever finding escape. But now........

That had been some years ago. It had started out small. I chose the least of the demons as my first test. It proved hardly that. I simply put my sword to his throat, backed him into his closet and locked it securely. I wish they had all been that simple.  
The many scars I bear attest to the fact that it has been a long and drawn out war for both sides. However, I began to notice a curious event after my first few victories. The glass in the chapel windows seemed somehow thinner, weaker. I put it to the test. After imprisoning a few more demons I again attempted to shatter the windows. They did not break, nor even crack, but this time I noticed a tiny vibration when I slammed the heavy candelabra into the sparkling panes. I renewed my efforts against the demons with an even greater strength of purpose.

There have been many victories but several defeats, as well. I vividly recall the Great Uprising of '86. I had managed to secure more than half the demon horde in their closets. I felt I was making significant progress. In my arrogance I foolishly became lax in my vigilance and paid the price. A well planned sneak attack left me weak and without the strength to resist the efforts to free the demons I had labored so long and hard to confine. The entire horde was loosed again and this time they very nearly drove me to the very steps of the basement. I knew that to descend into the utter blackness of the tunnels beneath the house would almost surely be my end. It was whispered that somewhere in the rooms beneath the house there was an old, bottomless well. That in the inky depths of the basement one could not see where they were going and the chances of slipping into the well and falling into endless night were quite good.

I almost gave up and let myself be pushed down the basement steps. Almost. From somewhere inside of me I gathered a strength heretofore unknown and fought my way past the pressing masses until at last, broken and bleeding, I struggled through the chapel door.

There I remained for some time until I was sufficiently rested and recovered to begin the battle anew. It was almost crushing to think of the time and effort to regain the ground I had lost but at that point I had run out of options. I couldn't go back to being a slave. I was prepared to die first. And so I began again.

And here I am. Older, wiser and certainly more battle scarred. I sit before my only remaining demon. Oh, he and I are old enemies. I call him Big D and he calls me Pet.

He is the last of his brothers to remain free but he is the strongest. We have been at each other for a very long time now. The panes of the chapel windows are as thin as onion skin, but still they refuse to break.

I stir from my chair and pull myself up. As I slowly make my way out of the room and into one of the many hallways I keep a keen ear on the trailing footsteps behind me. The sibilant hiss of indrawn air, the dry scritchiness of leathery skin on hardwood floors and the faint click, click, click of needle-sharp talons. Me and my shadow. I wander towards one of the many staircases leading towards the main floor and pass a few of the myriad closets I have locked. The putrid stench of despair emanates from the door so recently rattled and, a little further down, I sense apathy behind another locked barricade. I feel hatred as I pass another and rage at another. On and on the list goes as I pass door after door. I know that it is only my constant vigilance that keeps the inmates securely behind their doors. It is a daunting task and an endless one.

Descending the stairs I stand in the wide foyer and look around. I am so heartily sick of this place, this tomb. I long for the clean, wide open spaces of the outside. Freedom. Freedom from the demons, the cloying house, my prison. There is only one way to that promised land, however, and that is through the decimation of my last and greatest foe. I don't think I shall ever be able to beat him but it would be enough just to imprison him in his closet. To keep him contained. I turn toward him once more.

"Come, Big D. Let's go another round! Come, Self-Doubt. I'm ready."

***********************************

Authors Notes:

Hereditary Biochemical Imbalance.

A fancy name for inherited depression. My little emotional thermostat doesn't regulate itself because I am missing certain chemicals in my brain. Of course I didn't know I was born with it. I didn't know until many years later. Depression is an insidious disease. It robs one of confidence, self-worth and objectivity. It leaves behind a deep, ingrained and profound sense of being worthless and incompetent. Worst of all it leaves one with a feeling of self-hatred.

I thought it was normal for a child to hate oneself to the point of various forms of self-abuse. I unconsciously sabotaged everything I ever had; relationships, careers, dreams. This only proved to myself how unworthy I was to ever be happy. I married the first man who asked and ended up in a sadistic marriage that was mentally, physically, emotionally, verbally and sexually abusive. That was my lowest point. My choices were clear. Kill him or kill myself. Astonishingly, and contrary to victim mentality, I chose a third option and left. I picked up a basket of dirty clothes and walked out.

My life began to change at that point. A good man entered my life. One who loved me for who I was and refused to let me sabotage this relationship. He never quit on me. Two miscarriages (one in the fourth month) set me back but I forced myself to move forward. Two lovely children came and one day I found myself with feelings of extreme violence toward these two babies. The next day found me in the Psychiatrist office for the very first time. It was my 27th birthday. It was the first time I knew what was wrong with me.

I've been on medication ever since. It's effectiveness waxes and wanes. I've had one serious backslide. The winter of '86. The Great Demon Uprising of '86. A full fledged breakdown. I recovered and moved on. That spring I watched my 4 year old daughter experience her first major depression. She would weep uncontrollably for hours until she fell into an exhausted sleep. How can you explain to a 4 year old why they feel so sad? How do you tell them this is something you gave them? We will both be on medication for the rest of our lives. The most important factor in keeping our lives on an even keel is knowledge. And faith. The more one knows about the illness the more one is able to 'reason' with it. To recognize the symptoms. To fight it. To endure.

For those that found some meaning in the above story I leave the writing below. If you see yourself in this, learn more and get treatment. For your good and the good of those around you.

You may have depression if:

You are continually in a depressed mood most of the day, nearly every day, as indicated by either subjective report (e.g., feels sad or empty) or observation made by others (e.g., appears tearful). (In children and adolescents, this may be characterized as an irritable mood.)  
Have a markedly diminished interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day .  
Have significant weight loss when not dieting or weight gain (e.g., a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month), or decrease or increase in appetite nearly every day.  
Have insomnia or hypersomnia nearly every day.  
Have psychomotor agitation or retardation nearly every day.  
Have fatigue or loss of energy nearly every day.  
Have feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt nearly every day.  
Have a diminished ability to think or concentrate, or indecisiveness, nearly every day.  
Have recurrent thoughts of death (not just fear of dying), recurrent suicidal ideation without a specific plan, or a suicide attempt or a specific plan for committing suicide.


End file.
